


Stop The Wedding

by Measured



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Community: longfic_bingo, Derogatory Language, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-16 23:37:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2288840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured/pseuds/Measured
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fall of Mann co, Scout hears about Miss Pauling's impending wedding in the papers, and sets off to warn her about Charles Darling's shady past. He begs help from Spy, even with new realizations about who his mother's been dating all these years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stop The Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> This is part anon request–something related to a wedding– and when I took on a personal challenge to write a trope I loathe in a way which I could like it. Slightly AU from Ring of Fired at this point. It ignores everything from the premise of ROF onwards. longfic_bingo: pretend relationship.
> 
> Thanks to Hazmad for the beta. Title comes from an Etta James song.

2 days

He nibbled on a piece of stale two day old toast from the discounts, slathered in enough butter to almost make it edible. His brothers were already off to work, or sleeping off hangovers in the living room. He'd forgotten just how tight the space was–his mother had never moved up or left Southie behind, even when they were rich. He pushed his bedhead out of his face. The light always found its way through those pathetic flower curtains his ma always loved for some reason.  
Now they were back to barely scraping by again, but it wouldn't be for long. Scout just hadn't figured out how to get back to good yet. He would, he promised himself. But it was a hard fall, from hitting it rich, to being back to barely scraping by.

It was only his brothers pitching in that kept them from being right back in the worst of the projects. It was a huge dent to his pride, but frankly, Scout was used to it. He had to just pick himself up and find a way to make millions of dollars again, with no diploma, no degree, and no experience which wasn't bashing heads in and dodging bullets.

The door behind him creaked.

"Mornin', sweetie," she said. She swayed, groggy and with bloodshot eyes.

His ma was still in her blue velour robe, her hair up in curlers. She lit up a cigarette with coffee, aspirin in one hand.

"Mornin', ma," he said. This was about as quiet as he got. He knew from experience when ma was hungover. He used to think it was the loneliness, so he'd go make a midnight run for coffee and orange juice and enough aspirin, and then promise to take more breaks. They were all promises he couldn't quite keep, but he just kept on making them.

Ma was used to being lied to by the men in her life.

She shifted. The robe didn't quite cover the hickey on her neck. She'd had a new man for a while, but this one didn't show up except in small passing clues he'd missed, probably for years. He'd been too wrapped up in his job to take notice of the clues which should've been obvious. Fancy alcohol left in the fridge, the kind ma would never drink on her own, dried roses, and most of all, the cologne he recognized all too well. Usually it was tempered with gunsmoke and blood, battle smells.

He hadn't said a thing to his ma yet, but when he saw Spy, he was going to let his fists do the talking.

She opened up the paper and glanced through it. Scout usually never paid attention to the papers unless it was the comics, or the sports section. These days he'd been going through the want ads, but nobody was asking for an ex-mercenary with no diploma and no degree around these places. The mere thought about being cooped up in an office made him want to grab his bat and break something. It was such a claustrophobic feeling, like in the dime comics when the walls were closing in on the hero.

"Hmmm. Pauling, Pauling.... Wasn't that the girl you were always talkin' about?"

He dropped his toast, and pushed himself out of the chair so fast that it nearly toppled over. "What—did she call? She called, right? She left her number?"

"No, she's in the paper." She turned the paper around. Sometimes in movies and comics, there'd be these descriptions like _and then everything went black_ or _time stood still._ But it was nothing like that. If anything, life on the battlefield taught him that everything would go fast for a second, until it felt like he could hear his heartbeat thudding away, the blood in his veins.

The Darling-Pauling wedding. _Charles Darling to wed Sophia Pauling._ He recognized the guy— _the asshole_ who stood by Miss Pauling, his arm about her waist. She was downright tiny next to him, like that main girl being toted around by King Kong in the movies.  
That guy was touching her, she was smiling, and something inside him was just cracking with the wrongness of it all. Not him, not her, this wasn't happening– 

In seconds he was out the door, the chair pushed aside and his mother calling after him. 

Ever since he was young, whenever it hurt, he ran. He avoided punches, the tearing down of every teacher who called him stupid and useless, every one of those chucklenuts who would try and beat him down. 

Running away was the one thing he was best at. Nobody could catch him or even think of outrunning him. When he ran, he'd get this flood of good feelings until he knew he was the best at someone and he was repeating Muhammad Ali's and The Flash's speeches in his mind until they melded together.

Floating high, where nobody could even touch him. He was a frigging superhero, the number one.

Usually, he could lose himself in the speed, until he could pretend on some level that he was a well-oiled machine, some kind of cyborg superhero who was going to save the day. He'd done that back in the day. Eventually, he learned to fight back, with a good zinger, a left hook, a kick, a slam of his bat straight to their skulls, until he could beat back the insults and pretend they didn't matter to him when he was splattered in their blood. 

Today he couldn't lose anything, not with the _Darling-Pauling_ wedding stuck in his mind over and over. There was only one thing which filled his brain other than her, and that was the hickey on his ma's neck, and the faint cologne on her robe that he recognized.

All this time he'd been fighting with a dirty liar. Technically, Scout was pretty sure that was Spy's job description, but he still felt like there was a knife in his back. And really, Scout should've seen it coming, should've known. He hung around all the guys, but it was Spy he really relied on, because for it all, he was pretty awesome. He got shit done, and reminded Scout of James Bond novels in real life. It was the closest thing to being friends with a real life superhero.

Then he realized that his own damn teammate was the one his ma had been keeping on the side, and all that respect went right out the window. He could never be friends with the kind of guy who was going to just make his ma cry in the end, and her men always did. Even his pa who died in the war made her cry in the end, and even Scout made her cry, but the least he could do was stop a little bit of hurt. Push away the guy before he really broke her.

The thing was, he could've gone to Engineer if he really needed it, but through it all, he kind of even _liked_ the guy. Sure, he was an asshole and a half and they always ended up fighting, but when Spy wasn't looking, Scout would try and steal his moves. First it'd just been making him his secret mentor. Then it'd been coming to Spy on his knees for just a chance Miss Pauling would give him a second chance.

Now, he didn't know what to think. If Spy really was the guy ma had been keeping around all this time, all those things about him being a ladykiller were either lies or he was two-timing Scout's ma.

And Miss Pauling, she....

He'd learned a few things by barging in to spend some time with Spy. Enough to know about Darling and his feud with old man Hale, and to know that this guy was serious bad news. He'd lost enough wives that if he was a girl, he'd definitely be called _Black Widow_. He was a creep and a half, and somehow, she hadn't seen through it.

Through the repetition of _she's not yours, she'll never be yours_ and _she's shacking up with a killer_ only one thing came clearly:

_what the hell am I goin' to do now?_

No matter how many times he fell, he always got back up. Through broken bones, broken hearts, and broken pride, he'd find a way to pull himself back up. And his comeback would blow his earlier records away.

*

He hadn't run until he practically broke in a long time. Back at the base, all he'd have to do was visit the doc and he'd be back to good as new. He had to keep reminding himself that he wasn't invincible anymore, even if most of the time he didn't feel much different. He couldn't just jump off buildings and expect someone else to pick up the pieces anymore.

It usually took at least twenty miles to get his muscles tense, but this time, he hadn't kept count.

"You stayed up?" Scout said.

"I always stay up for you," she said.

She pulled the fuzzy blanket a bit closer around her. He'd had a time getting his shoes off at the door, considering all the new blisters he'd made. Probably went and let all the cold in. Scout hadn't noticed the temperature when he was running. He was too numbed inside to notice the pinprick of goosebumps on his arms until he'd been out for hours.

That was one of the things about running: he could block everything else out, until it was just him and the ground, if he ran far enough away. 

"Ma—" 

"Come in and get warmed up, then we can talk. I got some milk ready for you," she said.

"Ma, this is important–you gotta call that douchebag you're datin'," Scout said.

"Watch your mouth," she said. She put the paper aside, and put the glass before him. "Now, drink up."

He was more thirsty than he'd thought. The milk warmed him, and his mother poured out a big glass of water. "You been keepin' hydrated out there? I know you'd just drink nothin' but soda all day long if you had the choice."

"Of course, ma. But, you see, it's important, I gotta get to her—"

She turned around. The robe was tied tighter, he could almost think that he'd imagined the whole thing. That was, if he hadn't seen the pinup on Spy's gun, hadn't put the pieces together when he caught the scent on her robe.

"Sweetie, I know she was special, but—"

"No, _you don't understand,_ you gotta get him. It's—It's an emergency."

Scout leaned against the counter. At this rate, begging Spy to clean up Scout's messes was becoming a habit. Last time he'd gotten a bruised ego and plenty of other bruises to go with it. This time he'd probably come back with a broken jaw, and more.

She sighed and stubbed out her cigarette. "We don't work like that. He doesn't give me any way to contact, he just shows up sometimes. It's safer that way," she said.

"But there has to be some emergency number—This guy she's goin' to marry is serious bad news. _He kills people_!"

His mother cleared her throat. "Honey, look in the mirror. You ain't exactly got a free reign on that one–none of us Dempseys do," she said.

"Yeah, but the people who went missin' were _his frickin' previous wives!_ And I just, I can't, ma. I _can't_ let her be one of them."

His voice broke. Sadness, violence, rage, they all meshed together incoherent. He couldn't be helpless. He'd break the walls before he'd sit down and let everything go to ruins. He might've lost the job which had been the one good thing in his life, but he'd be damned if he'd just sit back and have Miss Pauling be another on the list of Charles Darling's missing wives. 

"Oh..." she said. 

She pulled out her stationery, scented with her perfume. He'd seen her crying into that stationery, years ago, with wine spilled over the table. Over some other no good asshole who broke her heart. He hadn't seen her cry in years, though maybe she'd just gotten better at hiding it.

"There's no telling when he'll get it. It could take hours, days, or even months," she said.

"I don't got months, I barely got days," Scout said.

"Then for your sake, I hope he's around," she said.

She walked out, still in her robe. No one would even dare think about touching her around here. If anyone so much as catcalled her, every Dempsey brother would break more bones than a mob loan shark.

* 

Scout had kept along the docks to hear the water and try and calm his mind run until his feet were blistered and bleeding, and he still couldn't sit still. It kept going over in his mind. It hadn't even been a year since that whole Bread thing, his last close brush with death.

They'd had plans. Sure, plans that her work kept pushing back, but he'd gone along with her until the whole robot attack meant they didn't have times for leisurely sunset body burials for two anymore.

He hadn't even gotten a chance to say goodbye to her. 

They'd had a connection, he was sure of that. The way she'd grabbed his hand back then, when they were both on the brink of death stayed with him more than the names and faces of the girls he'd fucked.

He heard a lighter flick, a flame, and turned abruptly to face the man who had slipped into his house, and his mother's heart.

"You—" 

Spy looked him over, shadowed from the streetlight. He held the letter, folded in his hand, before putting it into the pocket nearest his heart. Scout wasn't one for impulse control, usually his first step was yelling out whatever the hell he was thinking. But when it came to her, for perhaps the first time in his life, he bit his tongue. She came even before his rage, betrayal and suspicion at his teammate.

"It says it's an emergency," Spy said.

"She–she's goin' to marry Charles frickin' Darling!"

"Your _mother_?" Spy said incredulously.

"No! _Miss Pauling!_ " It came out more as a wail, but he was far past caring. 

"You've got to help me. I can't go to anyone else for this. You're good at breakin' stuff up—and I can't let this happen. I don't know how she didn't get the damn memo, but this guy is real bad news—you're the one who investigated him before, you know how he is! I gotta at least warn her, before he buries her—"

Spy pulled a cigarette out of his case. Scout used to think he did it to be cool, because if smoking didn't kill his endurance and running, he'd do it just to blow smoke in people's faces. But now he thought it was a stalling method, a way to keep people away.

"Listen, I can't pay you yet, but when we get her out of there, maybe she'll have somethin', some job—"

"I don't need your money; you couldn't _afford_ me," Spy said. 

Scout ground his teeth, unable to have a comeback with that. He was selling newspapers to make sure they had food on the table. 

"This will be the last time I ask you anythin', I promise," Scout said.

Spy scoffed. He didn't even need harsh words for that one; they both knew Scout wouldn't keep that promise, either.

"When is the date?" Spy said.

"It's...It's this weekend," Scout said. "Startin' at eight at night, at the old church on Beacon Hill."

So little time to break this apart—and technically even less, considering he'd ran off most of the day.

"There's a good chance knows exactly the kind of person he is," Spy said.

"She couldn't—somehow he pulled one over on her! Why the hell would she shack up with a friggin' murderer?"

"We all have our reasons," Spy said. "Have you suddenly forgotten what you do for a living? Or what she does?"

"Look, there's a huge difference in shankin' a guy because it's your job, and in buryin' your wives. And I'm proud of her buryin' skills, so don't you go bein' a high and mighty hypocrite, you back-stabbin'—"

Spy held his hand up. "Obviously logic and reason is too much for you to handle."

"Look, are you going to help me or not? Because if not I'll tear down the doors down myself. In fact, I probably should've just gone on myself to begin with. I–"

"The last thing you need to do is make your mother cry," he cut in, his voice filled with scorn.

"Like I've made her cry even half as much as you, goin' and leavin' her all alone—"

"It's a burden we both share," Spy said, cutting him off. 

And he had Scout there. They were both killers, and both made his ma cry enough. For the second time that night, he didn't have a comeback. He was too strung out and wrung up to think of anything but _save her_.

"You need to be fitted for a suit. That thing you wore to court and claimed was a suit won't do," Spy said. He stubbed the cigarette beneath his expensive shoes. "It's on short notice, but it can be done."

This wasn't the first time he'd had to run to Spy for help. He hadn't known, then. But he probably would've still done it even then if it meant he got to spend ten minutes with Miss Pauling before he died. 

There was another flick of a flame. Not a cigarette, this time. Just a spark of light. Spy's face was shadowed and unreadable as ever.

"You are going into a den of wolves—quite literally, given the source. Do you understand?" Spy said.

"I don't care if you wanted me to go swimmin' with vipers or wrestling with alligators. Make me run across the friggin' desert. If it means she'll be okay, then I'll do it."

"Don't plan on sleeping tonight, you're coming for a fitting," Spy said.

"I'll be fine," Scout said with more bravado than he actually felt. "I shotgun those Bonk and live most of the time, Doc fixed up this heart, so I ain't ever goin' to have it explode."

He was used to talking himself up. The difference between him and some loudmouth asshole was he always lived up to his bragging, until it wasn't really bragging at all, just telling the chucklenuts what kind of hurting they were going to get. You put on a big enough show, you don't even have to fight. The chucklenuts run off before the first blow, their tails between their legs.

As usual, Spy ignored his bragging. This time, it was mostly for himself.

1 day

"I look like a friggin' wise guy," Scout said. He tugged on his suit as he checked himself out in the mirror at every angle he could. He actually thought he looked even more handsome than usual, but he wasn't going to admit that to _Spy_ any time soon.

"Fitting, as you almost joined their ranks," Spy said.

His ma had told a lot, the old story how she pulled him back from the docks by his ear. It wasn't surprising that Spy had heard it as well.

"Nah, I ain't part of no _family_ of monkey suits. Bein' one of the boys means hittin' up places, workin' down at the docks, things like that. I would've pulled down an armored car with the best of them, but ma got wind of it and I ended up at Mann co."

Spy was barely paying attention to him—big surprise. He frowned at a cowlick that refused to stay down. Scout had to smirk at that. There'd been years of his ma trying to get that hair to behave back when he actually went to Mass. Eventually, she stopped going or trying. 

It was all for show, anyways. None of their family was really religious; they were just bad enough to pull up the bargaining chips and try and win one over in case God really did exist.

"Why the suit, anyways?" Scout said.

"We need to blend in long enough to at least get past security," Spy said.

Security, he hadn't thought of that. In his mind, he was racing into some church, throwing open the doors and leaving people in the pews shocked as he caught the priest just at the moment he said _speak now or forever hold your peace_.

"Figures the asshole would marry her at friggin' _Beacon Hill_ ," Scout muttered. The paper crumpled in his hands, until he couldn't see that smug grin, and the sad face of some caged panther behind him.

*

They were parked on the curb in Spy's fancy red car of some make Scout didn't know, because even at his richest, it was still beyond his pay grade. The old church was in sight, full of stone and stained-glass windows of lilies and saints all lit up from inside. 

"Do you not understand the concept of _sitting still?_ "

"Good luck with that, I drank five coffees," Scout said. His leg jiggled. Even without coffee, he'd never been able to keep still. He'd gotten rapped on the knuckle with so many rulers until the scars went so deep not even time made them fade.

Spy rolled his eyes. "Congratulations. You are without a doubt, the worst person to do surveillance with, and I've done stints with _Soldier!_ "

"Yeah, fuck you. What the hell part of no sleep and five coffees do you not understand?" Scout said. 

Spy just made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. He'd been chain smoking for the past couple of hours, and it was pretty much only pride which kept Scout from bumming some smokes off of him.

Five whole seconds of silence passed. Some of the guests were setting up. Funny, he hadn't seen much of the security Spy was so sure was there. He wasn't sure if that was a bad sign or not.

"Just tell me one thing," Scout said.

Spy made a noise in the back of his throat, sort of like a laugh. "You don't have enough money to buy lies from me, let alone to buy a single _fact_."

He'd told himself he'd wait, but Scout was never very good at waiting.

"You and ma...how long that been goin' on?" 

Spy flicked the ashes over the side of the car door. "She hardly needs her _youngest_ son's permission to date," Spy said.

"Easy for you to say, you never came back from school to see her with an empty bottle of vodka and run down make up and another guy who she said would be a real dad, but just flaked off. You didn't have to know that no new guys meant that she gave up on anybody ever not lyin' to her and breakin' her heart again!"

"Or, did she keep secrets from you boys?" Spy said.

"I....wha—You're sayin'—"

Ma hadn't done pinups since before he was born, or at least that he knew of, and he knew his pinups. Scout had gotten into plenty of fights because some boy at school called her a whore, and he had to bloody them up until they shut their mouths.

Truth be told, he should've been less surprised that deep to the core Spy was a liar through and through.

"Listen, you cheat on her, I'll take a baseball bat to your nuts. And not my usual one, either. Nah, I'll get a heavy spiked one, and put extra barbed wire on it," Scout said. "All that bein' popular with the ladies crap? That _better_ be in the past."

Spy laughed so hard he snorted. Not the usual reaction to threats, but nothing about Spy was predictable or usual.

"Rest assured, If I ever even thought of cheating on her, you wouldn't have anything left to batter by the time she was done with me."

Sometimes, Scout had to admit despite being a rich fuck and a prick, Spy was all right. 

 

*

He drifted off—crashed, more like it. It was only when Spy backhanded him that he woke up, ready to fight.

"Eh, what—"

"Get ready," Spy said.

Scout wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hands. No bandages this time, considering they were too conspicuous. Bloodstains were hell to get out of suits. He didn't even wear them, and he knew from how much Spy bitched and moaned about it.

Spy was drawing the diagrams out. It was nearing dusk, dark purple and blue over the streets. The streetlights were struggling to flicker on.

"Game time," Scout said.

Wedding day

Spy had gone all out, even to forge their invitations. Scout didn't even know when he'd gotten these done, considering Scout had spent most of the last time with him. Who knew what kind of secrets a guy like Spy would have hidden up his sleeve?

The truth was even as Spy was explaining the plan, Scout knew that he wasn't going to go that way. Winging it was his skill---so what if Spy got a little pissed along the way? In the end, he'd already given Scout what he needed; a reassurance that it could be done.

He pushed open the doors, the sound of Spy swearing behind him grew fainter with every step. He couldn't hold back anymore. No security tried to stop him. The sound of an organ filled the room, echoing through the old woodwork of the sanctuary. The pews were huge, and really hard, the kind that made you walk funny and not be comfortable the whole Mass. There were fewer people than he would've guessed for such a high class thing, but then he wasn't too surprised that a creep like him was lacking in friends. 

A murmur went through the crowd as all the people began to look back. She was the last to turn. The mere sight of her was like a fist right to his chest. All the air was knocked out of him, he couldn't even speak. He hadn't seen her in months, and now in a sleek wedding dress, the lace veil pulled back and white flowers in her hair she was everything he didn't dare to say. The tightness in his throat was like a vice, choking every word.

The guy beside her, though, he was all wrong. He was so tall that she was even tinier beside him, almost comically so. Gray at his temples, an ugly beard that probably scratched her face when she kissed him. Probably had to get on a stepladder to even reach his chin.

He had to force his mind away from kisses and beards--they always were his weakness. He never could grow more than peach fuzz, and he'd never even gotten a chance to kiss her once, even though he'd lost count of the times they'd almost died.

"Was he on the guest list, dear? I usually don't allow riff-raff, but it is your special day," Charles Darling said.

Her gaze lingered on his, but she said nothing. He couldn't read her, he never could. To him, it only made her more fascinating. It broke the coldness, the feeling like his ribcage breaking slowly. He remembered, and started talking fast before he lost it all and choked again.

"Listen, Miss Pauling, you can't do this! This guy—this guy, he's a total creep."

"Can't she? I believe she already has," Charles Darling said.

Scout could take a lot—okay, that was a lie, he had the hottest temper this side of Demoman, but bear with him, here–but a condescending asswipe who looked like a discount James Bond villain? Yeah, he was going down.

"I don't friggin' accept _you_! Miss Pauling—this guy, his _wives_ end up missin'! You go with him and you'll be pushed into a tiger cage the minute he gets tired of you!"

Charles Darling clenched his jaw. His hand moved towards his coat pocket. "To bring up my tragedies on this happiest of days...I believe it's time for you to go. This is my day, and with such a lovely girl, too..."

She moved away from him, ever so slightly, and that was all he needed to know. He didn't know why or how she got there, but he was leaving with her.

" _Sophia_ ," Charles said, his voice growing sterner. "I believe it's time I took out the trash."

Scout hadn't seen the remote. Of course a creep like that wouldn't just have normal security.

"I've started a collaboration with a fellow businessman. I think it's going very well," Charles Darling said. He smirked, losing what little charm he wore like a mask, and looking even more like the smug asshole Scout knew he was.

The side doors opened, and several panthers rushed in. They stopped momentarily to let out robotic roars, before closing in. Their eyes flashed red, and their jaws made metallic little clicks as they opened. 

From behind them, several people in the audience screamed. There was a rush to the door, but Scout didn't have time for them, not with Miss Pauling still in the clutches of that creep.

Miss Pauling already had her gun out. He had no frigging clue where she even kept it, but there wasn't any time to think of that. It wasn't like he came in unarmed. He pulled his bat out as the first bounded towards them. Metal joints and some kind of complex engine sure didn't slow them down a bit.

From beside him, he heard gunfire. But, the bullets just glanced harmlessly off the panthers, without even leaving a dent.

"Bulletproof sides. Quite the top of the line," Charles Darling said. "Are you quite finished, _dear_. We can work through this little...indiscretion later." There was a smoothness to his voice, so sweet it was deadly. Miss Pauling visibly pulled even further away from him.

"You ain't layin' a finger on her, Charles _Douchebag_!"

When it came down to the fight, his trusty bat was what he wanted by his side. Even dressed up, he didn't leave without it. Guns ran out of bullets, but bats? Those lasted. Bashing in someone's skulls was a classic for a reason. 

They were backed up near the booming organ, now. Little tables of white lilies wrapped in white ribbons were all down the side of the aisle. Miss Pauling quickly grabbed one of the vases and launched it at the panther. The impact sounded impressive—she had a _nice_ throwing arm on her–but the machine shook off the water in seconds.

"Did I mention they're also waterproof?" Charles Darling said, oozing smugness. The asshole even had a glass of frigging wine he'd gotten from somewhere. He took a sip and chuckled as the panthers swiped at the woman he almost married.

Scout pushed her back, even as the claws slashed open his shirt and tore through his skin. He clutched his bat harder. There were too many of them, and no Respawn to fall back on. 

"I ain't goin' down!"

One of the wood stands that had held the now-broken flower vase went flying. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Miss Pauling go for another one. Geez, that woman was a hell of a lot stronger than she looked. Every time he thought he couldn't be more impressed, she found a way to raise his opinion of her.

But as impressing as it looked, the robot panthers didn't have some secret weakness to thrown tables. They shook off the broken pieces, stunned for only moments. It bought them seconds, but just barely.

They were closer to the door, but not close enough.

Charles Darling finished his wine. "You're a lot more feisty than you seemed," he said darkly. "I can't say I like this new side of you."

"Then you're a friggin' fool, because I like all sides of her, even when she's tired and cranky and talking about buryin' us mercenaries and hidin' the bodies!"

Charles Darling rolled his eyes. "This is my wedding, please limit your anguished cliches to a minimum. Or better yet, please go back to the garbage dump you _belong in_."

He pushed another button on that damned remote. Even more panthers came in. More than he could fight off. More than his whole team could fight off.

Just as the first roar came, one of the windows at the roof crashed into pieces. Saxton Hale caught a beam and swung down. Glass crunched beneath his feet as he landed. Scout hadn't seen the big guy so eager since his last bare handed bear fight.

"Ten against one? That's _almost_ a fair fight!" 

He grabbed two of the panthers and smashed their heads together with such force that the heads crushed in a mess of sparking wires and rubble. He burst out laughing at his destruction.

"So much for the superiority of _machinery!_ " He smashed another two other robot panthers together. Their metallic screeches became fainter as he tossed them across the room.

"Good job, Miss Pauling!" Saxton Hale said. "You'll be paid handsomely for all that information!"

"Information?" Charles Darling's face twisted as the full realization hit him. He didn't have long to consider this new information, as Saxton held a squealing robotic panther under each arm.

"Come on, Darling, play catch for old times sake! Don't tell me you've grown flabby already!"

"Hurry!" she said.

Another panther stalked nearer to them. He wasn't taking a chance. He scooped up Miss Pauling in his arms and leapt back, just missing the slash of metal claws. He landed on one of the pews, and rushed straight for the doors. They slammed shut behind him, and he heard the crash of the panther hitting the wood behind them.

Thankfully, the door didn't swing open, but that didn't stop him. He'd never run carrying a girl, but there was a first time for everything.

They went out past the cobblestones and brick of Beacon Hill. He only slowed down until the church was far behind them. 

"Oh, god, I almost thought you wouldn't come," she said. 

"Of course I was comin'! Ain't even a question! Wait—you were really waitin' for me?"

"Of all the places to get married, I advertised a place within walking distance, and you didn't think that was a bit suspicious?" Miss Pauling said.

"I don't read the paper much, except for the sports and comics," Scout said.

"That'd explain it. I figured you'd come and be a diversion right away....though then Mr. Hale got distracted and had to go deep into jungles to fight rare panthers. Then this all got spun out of hand..."

She sighed. "You know how he is," she said.

"So, uh, I'd say how you been, but—"

"Busy," she said. She held on a little tighter around his neck, like she'd had a sudden chill. He barely felt the weight of her, the ache of it all, because something inside him was just so damn happy to be this close to her. To be holding her and walking down a street with everything behind him. All around, people thought they were married. From this angle they couldn't see that neither of them were wearing rings, but just that they thought it was enough to make his days for a really long time. So long a time he couldn't even just put down how long he'd be savoring this.

"Yeah, but....how the hell you and him? What, do you got a thing for douchebags?"

Maybe he was going about it the wrong way trying to gentleman it up for her. 

"Him?" She laughed. "No, no, no, not even remotely."

"Could've fooled me, with the dress and that you were getting' friggin' married and all," Scout said.

"I don't usually disclose things about work, but I suppose I could make a slight exception, considering. You see, the operation had been planned for some time, and a female operative had been found. However, I accidentally met Charles and he was taken with me, so it got assigned to me. I can't say I particularly enjoyed it...or was good at it, but I survived."

He held her a bit tighter.

"I'd much rather be doing secretarial and burials, that's for sure." She noticed his grip, the protective way he'd clung to her. 

"What, are you jealous now?"

"I'm goin' to punch his face in for ever even thinkin' about you—"

She laughed, and it was such a sweet sound. He wanted to hear it for the rest of his life. Spread out in millions of days, through messy mornings before either of them had showered or brushed, to exhausted nights when she came back blood-covered and with sore feet.

"He has some thing for pure girls. I had to pretend to be prim and proper, and he barely touched me. Which was good, as I don't think I'm cut out for honeypot operatives."

He couldn't even be put into words. It was a long breath after being stuck underwater, but even more intense, a more pure sort of happiness and relief than he'd ever known.

"You're more the buryin' the bodies kind of a girl," Scout said.

"I haven't been doing that in such a long time, I'm probably rusty by now," she said.

"You'd never lose your touch," he said.

He had all these other things planned to say, but it was cut off by a screech. He didn't have to turn around to know what made that.

"Oh, hell," she said.

"Yeah, hell is right—"

It'd already been all too clear that these things were way out of his league. But he could run, and he could hold them off. He rushed to the nearest alley, nearly tripping over sidewalk cracks and scattered stones. He knew all these complicated streets of Boston, even the Beacon Hills on. The dark green dumpster was closed, but high enough that the wall could be climbed with enough effort.

He helped her up, and steadied her on the edge. 

"See that drainpipe? Yeah, just a little more and you can get up that fire escape," he said.

"You aren't invincible anymore," she said. There was concern and worry in her voice, over her face that made his heart feel about twice as fast in his chest.

"I ain't dead yet, either," Scout said. He smiled at her one last time, before he pulled out his bat. 

"C'mon, pussycat, you're boring me! Here kitty, kitty, kitty!"

A crackling roar answered him. If he kept mocking, the fear inside him would start to crumble. _Fake it until you make it, or die trying and die like a man._

The panther sprung in the air, quickness and grace, but he was quicker. It landed seconds where he'd been, and snapped at the night air. He slammed his bat into the closed thing he could reach. Scout just barely missed the claws in the air, his suit coat cut to shreds, but not his skin. 

"Hey, hairball. Guess what? _I am better than you_. I've taken down the BLU Heavy, hell I've gotten a few punches on my own side's Heavy. You think you're better than some giant bear of a guy? You ain't!"

The louder he was, the more he fought, the better chance she'd get away. He was running on pure adrenaline, now. No back up, no Medic to heal his wounds or Heavy to come and fire away all his troubles.

There were worse ways to die. At least he'd gotten to see actual evidence of her caring one last time. He'd felt her in his arms, carried her long enough that half of Beacon Hill thought they were a married couple.

"Come on, furball!"

He waited for the slash that never came. The panther began to spark. In the streetlight, he could just see the sapper stuck on its back. That thing might've been waterproof and bulletproof, but he just hadn't thought about the sappers.

"Jeez, I thought I was a goner," Scout said.

Out from the mist, Spy's insults blended into French, the way he did only when he got real mad. Scout couldn't tell his frogspeak apart. He'd sworn up a storm before he even fully appeared.

Usually he would've been pissed about now, but he couldn't understand a word, and he was too tired to throw it down with Spy tonight.

"Don't throw your life away so carelessly," he said, finally in English.

"I lived, didn't I?" Scout said. "Besides, she got away, and that's what's important."

"Go on, I'll clean up," Spy said. _As always_ he added, a grudging undertone which Scout was close enough to catch.

"Thanks, Spy," he said. "I really owe you one this time."

"I told you; it's already been paid for. Now go, I'm tired of looking at your crooked suit," Spy said.

Scout flipped him off, but it was halfhearted, and practically affectionate, or at least as affectionate as he and Spy got.

He climbed up on the dumpster. No other panthers had appeared—he would've known, he would've heard.

"Hey, Miss Pauling—"

She peered out from the fire escape. Her heel was caught fast, her wedding dress hiked up to her thighs as she tried to get herself unstuck.

"You're okay," she said.

He nodded, worn out, and yet so relieved. 

She reached out to grip his hand, and it didn't even matter that he hadn't slept in longer than he could piece together, that he was over-caffeinated and chilled from the night air and his brush with death. All that just went away with just a touch.

Even though he was frigging cold, he pulled off his tattered coat and put it over her shoulders.

"Lemme help," he said.

"I should just leave it. I've been trying the whole time to get it out because going barefoot over these streets isn't exactly pleasant, but....." She shrugged.

"I—I'll carry you the rest of the way," he said.

"At least catch your breath a second," she said. She tugged on the shoe one last time, before sighing and giving up. Her hose had run, her bun with white flowers all braided in had come undone, and there were rust marks that he thought definitely weren't coming out all over the back of the dress.

He took in the sight of her, the nearness of her, and reminded himself that she wasn't gone. They'd both somehow gotten out of this alive.

"Listen, this whole thing made me realize that there's tons of pretty girls out there—"

She frowned at this, but he kept going on, even faster now until his words stuck together.

"–but if they were at the altar, I'd wish 'em well and not think about it. Good for them and all. But you, it almost killed me. The truth is—it felt like someone broke my ribs. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think. I been in a lot of dangerous places, but I never had such a cold, dark hopeless feelin' as seein' you about to marry another guy."

"It kind of sounds like you're proposing to me," she said.

"I don't know what the hell I'm doin', but if I'm doin' it with you, then it can't be half bad," Scout said sheepishly.

"Even burying bodies?"

"Especially burying bodies," Scout said. "Never thought I'd miss the smell of a dead guy until now."

She laughed, and leaned into him. "You're really far gone if you miss the smell of rotting flesh," she said.

"Totally gone. Nothin' left."

She put her arm about his, and he could just make out vanilla and rust scent, and the warmth of her wrist touching his.

"Technically as of now, I am no longer contracted with Mann co," she said.

"Hey, that means...you got free time!"

"I really need to find a job," she said. "I don't even know what to do with myself when I have free time. I'll just start organizing my apartment ten times." 

"But, you need a vacation, especially after that last job," Scout said.

"You're right on that one. I think I've forgotten how to relax."

"I can teach you, if you want. Just ask anybody, I am a friggin' _king_ at wastin' time. Oh, you ain't even seen enough of Boston yet. I'lll show you the docks—not the ones with the mob on 'em––and take you up further on Beacon Hill, and to Old O'Neal's for a Stuckie, and—they're probably—"

"I'm way too tired for that right now," she said, cutting him short.

"Yeah, I gotta get you home," he said. "Wherever the hell that is."

She gave them directions to one of the higher end hotels on Beacon Hill, the kind he'd be shooed out of even hanging out in front of, so strict was their policy. But with her in his arms, he had no worry that they'd turn him out. They'd take one look at her all dolled up and assume she was royalty.

He pushed himself a little harder so she wouldn't be cold, even though the battle and the stress of the past few days had left him limping. He'd lost track of time, but not of his way.

He made it to the hotel or Rich Fuck Hotel as he'd called it when he was younger, now it was christened "Miss Pauling's Hotel" and would remain.

"She lost her shoes along the way," he told the woman at the counter.

"I have a reservation under Parker," she said.

It could've been a coincidence, but Scout wanted to believe that she chose her fake names after superheroes. 

"Just a moment, and I'll sign those," Miss Pauling said. She shifted in his arms. He already missed her, and she wasn't even gone yet.

"Don't worry about it, I'll sign you in," the receptionist said. She was a kindly looking middle-aged woman, even shorter than Miss Pauling. She looked like a model for an ad for Norwegian soap, except paler and with lighter blond hair. She looked at them dreamily, like she had a secret stock of romance novels under the desk, and they just brought about half of the books to life.

"Thanks, lady, you're a real champ," Scout said.

The stairs didn't last long enough, and the door came too soon. Before he knew it, he was having to let her go. He hung at the door, prolonging the night for every second he could steal away.

"We should do this again," Scout said.

"Escape a fake wedding to a tyrant forming a robot-animal empire after stealing his secrets and wrecking his finances for six months?" Miss Pauling said.

"Hell no, not that, but keep the dress, you look great in it. Though you look good in everythin'."

She smiled. "You probably say that to all the girls."

"Nah, just you."

She looked down, her hand on the door. This would be the point where he said a line so sly that she invited him to come in. But, he was done with lines. For now on, he was sailing without a playbook, without the thought that if he said enough clever things, he'd get in her pants.

Because she was way more than just a roll in the hay.

"Uh, sleep well," he said.

She looked surprised, but put up no protest. "Same to you," she said.

He'd had so much more to tell her. Like how he craved her like air, how she felt like long warm summer nights and all his favorite things, how he hadn't even realized that how much of an integral piece she was until she wasn't there anymore. 

But he walked out into the courtyard of some place he couldn't afford to be, not even with a Mann co. paycheck. He caught sight of Spy waiting outside, several cigarette butts strewn over the parking lot. He hadn't thought the guy would hang around, let alone track him down again after all this shit. He didn't look quite as mad as before, but that didn't mean they wouldn't end up going to blows soon. 

"Shit, I didn't call ma," Scout said. 

"I informed her that you'd likely be occupied," he said.

"Yeah, thanks."

He felt like he owed the guy more, even if he was a prick. All these years he thought his ma had given up, but she'd just found a guy who didn't break her heart. 

"Hey, lemme bum one," Scout said. Sure, he technically didn't smoke, but one wouldn't hurt. They leaned against the brick of Miss Pauling's hotel like this made any sense, like they really were friends or some more complex mix of accidental mentor and almost-father.

He coughed loud enough to be embarrassing, the true mark of an amateur. Spy slapped him on the back; Scout kind of got the feeling he was just using any excuse to land a punch on him. Especially after Scout had ditched him back at the sanctuary.

"You asked me how long...long enough to remember what you looked like in a little onesie with France on it," Spy said. For once, his voice sounded almost gentle, unlike the usual harshness, the condescension. 

Scout had all these memories of fights he won when he shouldn't, like someone else had thrown a punch as well, people who had been after his family who ended up dead in allies with a knife in their back, and even a few pieces of chocolate stuffed in his locker. But Spy was too busy to be his guardian angel, so he brushed them off. He wasn't about to get sentimental over fantasies this time.

He couldn't add together the pieces or even begin to guess. All he knew is that he hadn't seen her cry in years. She was happier than she was back then, raising up a whole bunch of kids as a widow with every menial job.

He never questioned when ma got a better job, the kind that seemed too rich for Southie. He didn't catch when she started smiling more. 

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Spy said.

"What, I said thank you, you want me to crawl on my knees now?"

Spy chuckled. "Her," he said.

"She's already back," Scout said.

Spy lifted one brow.

"Jeez, quit readin' my mind! I choked, okay?"

"The night isn't over yet," Spy said. He disappeared into shadows and nothingness, his domain. Scout dropped his cigarette and ground it into the pavement, even though it was only half-smoked. 

A plan started to form in his mind. An old standard, but the classics were the best in the end, now weren't they? He set off on a run down the street. He'd been there enough times that he knew closing time and that if you slipped them a little extra, they'd give you a bucket.

And what do you know? Somehow a twenty had magically slipped its way into his pocket. Fuckin' Spy, he was going to owe him for the next twenty years at this rate. 

*

"Scout, you—"

He held up the food. It'd been late, but he'd gotten a big carton of chicken from the joint on the corner. He smiled, crooked and full of that high he always got near her.

"Thought you might be hungry," he said.

He held up the bucket of chicken like it was a real trophy he'd had to win, possibly by mortal combat. "Eh? Eh?"

"Actually, I'm famished," she said.

She let him in, and he just basked in the fact that he was _inside a hotel room with Miss Pauling_. Before he lost his nerve, he kept on.

"Pencil me in," he said. "For all that free time, I got tons of places to show you."

Between bites, she pulled out her planner, and sat on the side of the bed.

"Let's see, I've got nothing on Wednesday, nothing on Thursday, and oh, nothing on Friday, Saturday or Sunday. I think this is the emptiest my schedule has ever been in my life," she said.

"Lemme see that, you're kiddin' me. You used to friggin' schedule in your showers and breaks," Scout said. He reached for the book, and she playfully kept it out of his reach. He misjudged the distance, and ended up falling to the floor in a heap.

She laughed, and kept the book close. "That's what you get," she said, mimicking Engineer's accent.

"That's hardball," he said. He leaned on his arm, and watched her.

"The truth is, I had to focus everything on the mission. It was a very complicated job...but, I had a little help. I knew you'd pull me out, so even if I felt very creeped out by him, I kept up the facade and counted down the days until it'd be over."

"I really missed you. Hell, I missed you when I went to go get chicken," he said. He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. Sappy wasn't his thing, but around Miss Pauling, he couldn't stop talking.

Technically he couldn't stop talking not around her, but that was different.

"I can't afford to stay in here much longer. I'll have to find another job and apartment soon. ....I never had time to move beyond the bases, and I never had that much to move. It's for the best now, I guess," she said. She sighed, wistful and a little sad. Her dark bangs fell across her glasses.

"Anyone would hire you—they'd be a fool not to!" 

She smiled down at him, crooked glasses, crooked flowers and a braided bun coming undone.

"With the way you were always talking about Boston like it was heaven, I always did wonder how much you were exaggerating," she said.

"No exaggeration, honest," Scout said. "Boston really is that great, and so am I."

"What I've seen is beautiful. I'm starting to think you exaggerate less than I thought."

She tapped her pencil on the book.

"Then I can pencil you in to tag along with looking at apartments with me, but you'll have to rise up bright and early, because I have to go job hunting. There's a job listing for a secretarial job for O'Shea and sons," she said. "The pay is abnormally high, though."

"That's cause it's mob through and through. They tried to get a couple and my brothers to work for them a couple years ago. Ma threw a fit," he said.

She shrugged. "Once you've worked for Mann co, everything else seems small in comparison."

"You'll have to learn how to give a guy cement shoes, but a girl like you could do the best, deadliest cement shoes there were. And I'd help push the poor bastard into the dock! Juuust like old times." Scout said.

She penciled new dates in. The rips in her hose looked sort of like a heart at her ankle. Scout pushed himself up, bursting with plans and energy.

"So, meet you at noon? The diners will be open, and I'll give you a tour of the best eatin' in town---at least, the best other than ma's."

She looked a bit surprised, and he didn't blame her. Alone in a hotel room and he didn't even make a pass the second time around. But the truth was, he was getting his dates in no matter what it took. A girl like Miss Pauling was worth so much, that waiting didn't even seem trouble. It'd been years and years, and he wasn't going to blow it. Even if he had to punch himself in the face and hire Spy to keep him from staying something real stupid.

"Night, beautiful," he said.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said.

Scout walked out into the courtyard of the hotel he never could've made it into on his own. He whistled as he walked down the street, back towards his home.

Epilogue:

The realtor had gone out to take a call, which meant the lady was finally done breathing down their neck and suggesting that maybe a larger apartment would be better, near the school and with extra room for future little ones.

He was stocking that one away, at least until the assuming wouldn't be a mistake.

"What do you think?" Miss Pauling said. She didn't look up from the paper. She was writing things in the margins.

"Overpriced like hell. Also there's roaches in this place---they've been settin' out traps and hopin' they wouldn't show," Scout said. 

"You've got a sixth sense for bugs," she said, wrinkling her nose.

He shrugged. With the places he'd lived in, he'd learned at a young age the signs of vermin.  
It was a shame, because the floors were nice, and those big windows had a great view.

Miss Pauling pulled out the next listing. She had a whole huge bag of them, with each one planned.

"You could make a job of this," she said.

"How to tell your realtor is a friggin' liar for 40 bucks an hour, I could dig that," Scout said. He shifted against the wall he'd been leaning on. The fake wood paneling was especially soft, like there'd been a leak and the last person hadn't fixed it too well.

"You goin' to work in O'Shea's?" he said.

"I've considered it. I'm not sure I can take a usual office day with nothing but filing and petty office drama. I'd be tempted to kill my coworkers the minute they hogged the stapler."

"Me too! I almost applied to places, but bein' in close places made me wanna bash someone's head in---"

"---and then bury the body in a shallow grave and top it with quicklime," she finished.

They smiled, a minute of tripping up in each other's sentences. He broke the moment like he always did.

"Beautiful, I'll always carry your bodies."

She crinkled down the paper and looked away for a moment. Out to the great view of cobblestone and brick. It was close enough to the docks that he could practically hear the boats.

She leaned in on tiptoe. He felt hypnotized by her mouth, the gleam of purple lipstick, and then the heat of her lips against his. It was quick, almost like a test. Her cheeks were rosy as she pulled back, her hands still on his shoulder. He could've kissed her for hours there in the apartment they'd never buy.

"You're right, Boston is beautiful. I think I'm going to stay a while," she said. 

She pushed the paper back into her bag, and he followed.

"About that, why don't you stay forever?" Scout called after her.

"You're proposing again," she said.

He shrugged, crooked smile and crooked feelings curled tight inside him. "You ain't even seen the fall, or how it looks like when the sun sets over the dock, or Fenway---"

"Not yet, anyways," she said. "But I'm sure you'll fix that."

"Damn right I will," he said.

She checked her watch, and her eyes widened. "Oh, crap, we're going to be late at this rate."

"The express Scout is slated for takeoff. All super hot passengers get aboard," Scout said. He bent down to let her on his back.

She shook her head and laughed, but climbed on. He made airplane noises as he took the stairs two at a time.


End file.
